Okita's Umbrella
by wuudochakku
Summary: Okita tries to demonstrate his superior intellect to Kagura through his more sophisticated torture plans.


She hated his guts. How could he say such a thing? She wanted to smash his nasty face in. She launched herself at him, and he laughed, sidestepping her. Unfazed. He was telling her how her fighting style was weak. She would show him who was weak! She was going to murder him, smash him and cover his remains with mayonnaise, and she told him so.

He responded that there was no way in a million years that would happen. She was as slow as her fat dog. Her eyes were swallowed by shadow, then, slowly re-emerged.

Red.

Redder than his.

She punched him across the room, and he landed on his back.

She fell over laughing. Served him right, insulting her Sadaharu like that. He had been asking for it, and now he was laying against the wall, his feet in the air.

What an idiot, provoking her like that. Honestly. She turned on her heel and left him there, rubbing his neck. But she couldn't ignore the stupidity of his next question, and so she turned to put him out of his pathetic misery.

What he had done to deserve that; what a laugh! What had he done? She would gladly tell him.

He continued to rub his neck apathetically. She wanted to know if it had been painful, because it had been nothing compared to what he was about to feel, she informed him. He was about to feel the depths of pure pain.

Boy, she was a pain, he told her, a sadist, even. She was punching him left and right, but she paused to correct him, because he was the real sadist here, wasn't he?

Well, if he was the sadist, why was she the one punching someone who had been defenselessly sprawled on the floor, holding them against the wall by the collar, he wanted to know. As if he didn't already know. The nerve!

Nevertheless, she let him down, informing him that she didn't have time to waste on him, and asking him if it wasn't perhaps past his curfew. He was only a kid, after all.

He crossed the room in almost three strides, although it was actually twelve, because he was, after all, short. Kagura wasted no time in informing the sadist of this. He wasted no time in pushing her against the wall. Here they were in the reverse situation, weren't they, he begged her to tell him.

Now he reached behind her, extracting her umbrella from between her hands, slipping it under his sword belt, next to his katana. Then he dropped her. That, he informed her, was the difference in their maturity. He was going to torture her in a much more intelligent way, and she should already be able to distinguish the adult from the child.

Well, she hated him, that was for sure.

He turned, leaving the room.

She told him to come back in the room that instant, arrogant sadist.

He told her that if her beautiful Chinese trinket was so important to her than she better bring her China butt over to rescue it, because he wasn't about to give it back without properly torturing her first.

She hated him. But he had called her umbrella beautiful. Maybe she would kill him gently, painlessly.

He smirked, and walked down the street. Her umbrella looked useful to protect him from bird droppings, he mentioned casually.

Scratch killing him gently. She was going to brutally murder him, and it was going to happen now. She charged down the street, fists frantically chopping through the air. He turned around and smiled at her.

Furious, she drew back her hand to slap him as hard as she could, best case scenario, she broke every bone in his face.

He was still smiling.

Telling her, her hand approaching her face, that the instant she slapped him, he would cover the umbrella with mayonnaise. Stolen mayonnaise hung poised above the umbrella. Her hand froze, an inch from his face. He squeezed the mayo jar anyway, telling her she was so easy to manipulate.

She pounced on the mayonnaise, knocking it to the ground, away from her precious umbrella, and he walked away, as Hijikata approached, mayonnaise spreading out in a great sticky puddle around her.

And Okita was gone. And her umbrella was gone. And Hijikata wanted to know what she had done to his precious mayonnaise. And all she wanted to know was why Okita Sougo hated her so much. And why she didn't particularly feel like killing him dead. Just almost dead.

Sougo was frowning, looking at the umbrella. Why did she love it so much? Her and her stupid China past. Her and her stupid China smile. Her smile. Why he wasn't getting as much joy from torturing her as he got from hurting Hijikata? Why did he feel like he wanted her, almost, on his side?

He reached the Shinsengumi building, just as it began to rain.

Kagura wandered away from Hijikata, only half there. Where was her other half? Was it with her umbrella? Was it with that..

That jerk? That sadist? As if. Right?

Okita sighed, pulling his sleep mask over his eyes, closing his eyes, leaning against the wall. He fingered the purple umbrella. What else could he do with it? Maybe he ought to try torturing that China girl again to see if he couldn't get some enjoyment out of it. To figure out what he really felt. To figure out why he didn't like torturing her. Which, of course he did. He had to. What kind of sadist was he if he didn't like hurting her? Right?

Kagura walked down the path. She was going to have to give hating him another try. He was an idiot, he had stolen her beloved umbrella. And now he was going to pay. The adult? No way was he smarter than her. She was much more mature than him. He was so full of himself, and now he would fall off his high horse. And hopefully, he would land in the mud. Or, even better, into the horse manure. All she would need was some mayonnaise. And a bowl of rice.

Naturally, he would be gloating in the Shinsengumi headquarters. And sleeping with his eye mask on. He would be unsuspecting and taken completely by surprise when she tried to feed him a mayo-filled dish. Oh yes. Her revenge was going to be sweet.

But what if he wasn't in the Shinsengumi headquarters?

No.

Somehow, she knew that was where he would go. When had she learned to read his actions? When had she begun to wonder what his sleeping face would look like under the mask?

It was because, she reminded herself, she had theorized that he probably didn't have

eyelids, which was why he never flinched and blinked, why he had the eye mask, and she needed to confirm this theory.

Right?

He looked back out in the rain. Wasn't she going to come for her revenge?

She sat down on a park bench, remembering that she had promised Gin-chan to wait for him here. The mayo plot could wait. Wasn't that sadist going to come back and torture her?

He changed into the clothes he often wore on his days off, leaning against the wall. Like he cared if she came after him.

She leaned back against the park bench. She didn't give a thought to Okita, because that scum didn't deserve it. Like she cared if he was coming to torture her. She was waiting for Gin-chan.

She sneezed.

The minutes slid away, and Kagura couldn't sit still. She wasn't going to leave, because what if Gin-chan came and she was gone?

But she simply couldn't sit still. And she was so cold.

She stood up, walked over to the wall of a closed shop in the alley in which she waited. She felt better with her back to the wall, knowing the shop behind her contained bags of rice and pork and spices. Kagura's stomach rumbled. Gin-chan had said they were meeting a client, but maybe neither he nor Shinpachi was coming in this rain. She pulled her knees up to her chest. Sneezed.

Water slicked her hair to her head, and Kagura was reminded of lonely days on her home planet.

Water splashed from the street onto her.

A pair of feet.

She looked up. The figure stood in front of her, sizing her up.

He stood there across from Kagura, walked toward her.

She asked him if he had come to torture her more.

He tossed her her umbrella.

She held it close to her, whispering welcome home to it.

He looked at her, apathy in his eyes.

She wanted to know why. Why he had given her the umbrella back.

Torturing her wasn't as fun as torturing Hijikata or anyone else, he said, observing her. She looked away from him.

She was dripping.

Dripping, but not being rained on.

She looked up, a big green umbrella stretched over her. Her

blue eyes were wide with surprise. His face remained blank. Confusion

was written all over her face. She said his name slowly, tasting it.

She was unsure.

She told him thank you.

He was holding the umbrella more over her than over him.

He told her not to get used to it.


End file.
